12 Sometimes It Just Gets Too Much
by E. J. Morgan
Summary: Q-niverse AU - There is a point where even teenage geniuses can have enough of other people's behaviors. When they feel the whole world is against them and life is just as unfair as it comes. That's the time when a big brother's intervention might become necessary. Fortunately, Q has even two to come to his aid in their admittedly quite unconventional but certainly effective way.
1. Chapter 1

**Sometimes It Just Gets Too Much**

 **Chapter 1.**

Ever since Bond had returned from his little escapade to 'normal' life with Dr. Madeleine Swann, he had been behaving rather oddly in Q's opinion. He could not be sure of the reason behind this of course, but the teenager – being a Holmes and all – thought he might have a pretty good idea, so he could without any problems hazard a guess. It didn't mean he felt it was the right time to bring it up in a conversation with the man; not yet anyway. 007 would talk about it on his own accord when he felt it was the right time to do so; there was no reason or use pushing him.

That occasion seemed to finally have arrived on a rainy Wednesday evening, roughly two weeks after the agent's return to duty. Q had just finished his work – three days straight in HQ and two difficult missions to guide during that time was nothing new for him but still, it had left him rather tired and wishing for nothing more than to return home and sleep, sleep, sleep – and after having said goodbye to the guards at the main gate, started the short walk towards the nearest subway station with every intention to get home as soon as possible to do just that.

He was just about to quickly descend the stairs at the station to finally get out of the rain when he suddenly got the feeling that someone was following him, trying to get his attention. He turned around to find 007 and-

"Dr. Swann, Bond. To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting both of you here?" – He knew the agent had requested a few days off so he shouldn't be anywhere near HQ, and Dr. Swann had nothing to do there at any time in his opinion.

"Q, is it a right time for us to talk?" – Asked Bond, so uncharacteristically nervous that the boy didn't have the heart to tell him that actually no, it was _not_ a right time, for he was nearly collapsing from pure exhaustion and he'd have to come back in just a few hours again the next day. He found himself saying instead:

"Yeah, well… Why not?" – Bond seemed so relieved, Q couldn't bring himself to regret his decision.

Bond put an arm around his shoulders and steered him back the way he had come from, so that the three of them made a beeline towards his car (the one he had taken with him when he had left but that was something nobody ever mentioned because 1. there was no explanation as to why Q had let him take the Government's property without a fight, 2. it was still listed as missing and nobody wanted to bother changing that status) that miraculously happened to appear parking by the MI6 building out of nowhere – that or maybe Q had just been already half asleep when he had passed by it just a few minutes ago.

"You're like a zombie, it's not safe. Somebody could snatch you and you wouldn't even notice. You didn't recognize the car even though you had to walk around it or that we followed behind you for two minutes to catch up to you."

Oh, the second option then… Right, of course, what was he thinking? K.I.T. existed only in television… Well, maybe he could build it. That would be fun! A talking car that appeared upon request just at the right time when you needed it… That was something to consider, the agents would surely be ecstatic! A future project, maybe for-

"Q? Q, Q!"

"Oh, what?" – When did they get into the car? And how come they were already driving? He didn't remember any of it. He concluded, with his logic of a genius, that he had to be more tired than he had originally thought… And that was bad because Bond already looked concerned and the teenager had had too much experience in the past with how irritating a worried Double-O could get… There was that time when-

"I just asked where you wanted to go: to my flat or to yours?" – Repeated Bond probably at least the third time while Dr. Swann just looked uninterested, staring determinedly straight ahead at the road from her position on the front passenger seat, pointedly ignoring the rain-soaked and deadly tired boy on the rear seat.

"Can it be mine? I'm totally done for, I think I need a shower, at least five mugful of tea and to get comfortable."

"Of course, no problem. But if you think you're not up to talking now we could do it some other time… You seem exhausted."

"No, no. It'll be fine, just let me pull myself together a little bit first."

They all agreed and proceeded to drive to Q's flat. Obviously Bond knew the direction and also had a key so he didn't have to ask anything. Luckily, because Q fell asleep right away and couldn't have been of any help anyway.

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

When Q woke up some time later, he found himself lying on his own bed, still in his working clothes but with his shoes and coat gone. He could hear faint voices from outside of his room – Bond and Dr. Swann were trying and failing at a quiet whisper among each other in the kitchen, as it seemed like they were in the middle of a heated argument, past the stage where they had still been able to properly control their volume.

"I really don't understand why we have to talk to him about us in the first place, James. Contrary to what you seem to believe, he's not really your little brother. Or anyone for that matter whom you own an explanation to. I'm sure he has his own family to go to and you have your own private life with me now that has nothing to do with that boy."

"I've told you more than once already, Madeleine: if you choose to be with me, then the boy and I: we're a package. He's been like a little brother to me for months, and I'm not about the change that for anyone – not even for you, so don't look at me like that. That's exactly what I'm going to tell him when he wakes up and that's what the both of us have talked about a lot. What's the matter with you; I thought you understood it?" – Bond sounded exasperated and also slightly irritated.

"I don't really have any other choice but to accept it, do I? I won't give up my relationship with you over a 13-year-old child!"

"He'll be seventeen next month."

"Really? He doesn't look a day over 13… Well, whatever, he could be fifty for all I care. I just don't understand. He's good with computers, and so what? What do you have to do with this?"

"He's the Quartermaster, the one who makes our weapons, assigns us missions, guides us through them, debriefs us… He takes care of us and in turn: we take care of him. I've already explained this to you what feels like a hundred times, and that shouldn't be so hard to see; you're a psychologist for God's sake, you should be more understanding!"

"I don't work with children and I don't see how my profession has anything to do with the fact that I don't wish to share my private life with a stranger. Especially if said stranger is a mere child."

Q decided he had heard enough and got out of bed. He quickly showered and changed into his pajamas then put on a bathrobe on top of it. His hair was still damp when he walked into the direction of the kitchen to wait in the door to be acknowledged. Bond – being a Double-O and all – didn't need more than a second to feel the teenager's eyes on the back of his head and turned around to greet him.

"Oh, Q, you're awake! Good, because the pasta is nearly ready and then we can eat." – Announced 007 and motioned to the pot with boiling water. – "I've made spaghetti with meatballs and spicy tomato sauce for us all."

"You cooked? But I don't remember having any ingredients in the fridge or in the cupboards…" – Actually, the boy was sure he hadn't had anything because the last time someone had used his kitchen for anything more than making tea, it had been Alec Trevelyan burning the last crumbs of bread in the toaster and that too had been over two weeks ago.

"You didn't have anything which is also something we'll talk about later. Luckily, I know you, so we brought these things with us. I told you about it in the car but you must have been already asleep by then."

"Oh" – Was all Q could answer to that. – "How did you come in without setting off the alarm? I know I haven't given you the new combination to deactivate it."

"No, you haven't. But since you were asleep, I called Bill and he told me the code. Apparently, it isn't a secret when it comes to him." – Did Q imagine it or did the agent really sound a bit hurt?

"You weren't here when I changed it. I wanted to tell you, I just forgot. Now, you know it. I promise to tell you first the next time there's s change, all right?" – He shrugged then took a peek into the pot on the stove. – "This smells delicious."

"It will also taste delicious, I can assure you: I'm a good cook." – He really was; everyone who knew him was privy to that information about him. Nobody else would believe it though. Who would think that an agent of MI6 with a license to kill could have such a harmless hobby like cooking and baking? (Well, harmless unless Alec or Q were attempting it… then it was just as deadly as anything else they did during working hours. And as Q had been unfortunate enough to learn, Moneypenny wasn't much better than them either.) – "Are you hungry? And there's only one good answer to that so think about it hard and long before you say something!"

"I actually am." – He was. He hadn't eaten anything at all but half an apple the whole time he had been working… so, three days, it had to be. No wonder he was feeling quite light-headed.

"Good answer."

"Well, I'm not called a genius for nothing, am I?"

Q set the table while Bond served the dinner (Dr. Swann didn't lift a finger to help them with anything, just sat at the table waiting for the food to mysteriously appear in front of her, the teenager noted – though he actually didn't really mind she wasn't snooping around in his home) and the three of them sat down to eat. The food was honestly marvelous! The boy said so and Bond's proud smile brightened the whole room.

"Why, I told you so!" – Trust him to be cocky about his cooking-skills too… - "So, Q, are you awake enough for us to talk now?"

"I guess…" – He wondered if he should mention what he had involuntarily overheard. He then decided against it and just let the agent proceed with the explanation.

"Well, as you very well know, after the whole Spectre-fiasco I wanted to leave this life behind and retire for good. I wanted to go abroad and live with Madeleine a fairly normal, as average as possible, life."

Dr. Swann nodded grimly.

"Yes, that was the original idea; that was what we _both_ wanted. It was good while it lasted." – She also gave Bond a reproachful glare.

Q bit back a very mean comment and just listened instead, turning towards 007 and tried to completely block out the woman's presence from his line of vision and from his mind. She was irritating him and worsening his headache.

"Yeah, well… I found it's not so easy to leave. I missed the job, the people, my friends and family… and _you_."

"You were missed too. Alec was unbearable. Well, more so than normal I mean. I was sure you'd come back. I didn't let them sell your flat or assign the number '007' to anyone else. I was called to M's office and he told me they wanted to bring back 0012 in your place…" – He hoped he didn't sound as scared and lost as these memories made him feel but the tender look on the older man's face told him he most probably did.

"I'm sorry I didn't talk to you before or during my absence… Well, but as I said, I felt I needed to return. It's my life and I also need to work, I just can't sit still."

"Of course you can't. Once an agent, always an agent; everyone knows that."

Dr. Swann dropped her fork and had to get up to retrieve it, muttering a half-hearted, angry apology for the interruption. The boys totally ignored her.

"Madeleine didn't want to live in England but in the end decided to accompany me and try to make a home here. She's living with me in my flat now as you may know."

"Yes, so I've heard." – Q didn't even bother to hide his less-than-happy attitude about this arrangement. Of course he knew it wasn't his business in any way, Dr. Swann was right about that, but he still didn't have to like her, did he? After all she wasn't making a secret about disliking him either.

"I would like you to know that it won't change anything for you. I still want you to come and go in my flat as you wish and that you may call me anytime; even if it's in the middle of the night."

Q chanced a glance at Dr. Swann and saw that she definitely didn't share this sentiment and would rather jump down a cleft than have Q marching into _their_ flat unannounced – or be there in any way, anytime. She also most probably wouldn't be very tolerant about midnight calls just because the boy had a sudden brilliant idea and decided he wanted to run a test with the agent first thing in the morning the next day. (All right, it had only happened once or twice… at the very most three times, so what's the big deal!? It wasn't his fault his brain just couldn't keep itself to working hours and sudden ideas seemed to spring out of nowhere at the most improbable of times… Bond had been rather tolerant about these in the past.)

The teenager couldn't help the skeptical expression that crossed his face.

"No, Q, really, please: I mean it! I don't want anything to change. I know you're not used to any of us having a partner; that's because it's absolutely not common, that's true… But you have to understand that _you're_ still family, too. That hasn't changed and won't ever."

"I know that."

"Then why haven't you come over to me since I've been back…?"

"I… I have been very busy." – Well, that was true at least.

"You're _always_ very busy, nothing new there… And still, you used to find the time to visit me at least once a week. Now I've been back for over two and we haven't even been able to properly talk yet."

"I have been-"

"Busy. Yes, I know… Q, are you angry with me?"

"No, I'm not." – He wasn't, was he? Sure, he would have wished the agent would have talked to him about wanting to leave instead of just turning his back on them and walking off on the opposite side of the bridge, leaving them standing there flabbergasted. Or that he would have talked to him instead of just demanding the car he had been spending many-many hours on to get it back into working order for the agent, just because he knew that was a dream-car for Bond. Or that he would have at least once or twice talked to him while he had been away: phones were there for a reason! He could also have written as he had actually _promised_ to do. Or… Oh, well, all right, maybe he was a bit resentful…

"Yes, you actually are." – That was the first time Dr. Swann had said anything directly to him and it already made Q want to throw her out of his flat… What a beginning! – "You are jealous that James won't have so much time for you like he used to. You can't accept the fact that he has someone more important in his life now than you are."

Q closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then to twenty. Then he continued because it still hadn't helped.

"Madeleine, please, nobody is talking about jealousy here-"

Q's counting reached fifty but he now felt he needed to take more drastic measures to not explode.

"Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Swann? Because then I'll have to seriously reconsider the idea I presented M yesterday."

"What idea, Q?" – Asked Bond confused.

"Well, I know that Dr. Swann is trying to find work here in London, and that she hasn't got anything yet. I also heard that Dr. Rothberger is planning to retire next month – I guess, working with post-mission agents for years can be a bit overwhelming – so I asked M if he would consider hiring Dr. Swann for the position; if she would like to come, of course. I know, Dr. Swann, that you don't really want anything to do with the world of espionage but that way you could work in MI6 so James wouldn't have to keep everything he does daily secret from you. Also it could give the two of you more of a chance of spending time together."

Bond looked absolutely abashed and even Dr. Swann looked a little bit touched.

"Wow, Q, I don't know what to say… It's very considerate of you!" – Exclaimed 007.

"Yeah, well… it's nothing, really. Just an idea."

"And what did M say?"

"He basically left the decision up to me but said it would be my job arranging it with HR if I think it's a good idea having a couple working for MI6. He hates dealing with that department and the paperwork that comes with things like that… I don't mind; I have a lot of practice from when I had to hire all my minions when I became the Quartermaster."

"I didn't know Dr. Rothberger wanted to retire…" – Mused Bond.

"Well, I might have mentioned to him he'd have to do your re-evaluation after your extended absence soon… I guess that did the rest. Somehow he wasn't so keen about the idea of having to work with you for a longer period of time. I have no clue why though, I didn't expect this reaction from him."

"Sure; I bet you didn't. Q, I don't know how to thank you for even thinking about this."

"It's fine, really. It's not much, just an opportunity." – Q felt embarrassed, he'd never been able to cope well with gratitude directed at him.

"And what exactly would be my task?" – Inquired Dr. Swann. She seemed less grateful but at least a little more friendly now.

"Well, the usual: you'd have to do the psychical evaluations of new agents when they begin working by MI6 and then once every year after that for everyone except for M and all the department heads (as leaders, we're required to do our psychical by independent professionals, so we go over to MI5 and the leaders there will come to you to avoid having to work with your superiors); you talk to them and write a report about them when they return from a difficult or longer mission and they need help to get back to everyday life, or basically when something happens that calls for a psychologist's help. You'd need to have open, voluntarily counseling sessions – though it's not typical for agents to make use of it so it's just basically a time you need to be available –, and generally be accessible to all employees, not just agents. It's not much different from any other psychologist's work, aside from the fact that your past experiences and knowledge about military life can be of great help to understand the situations and problems the agents may face."

"I wouldn't be asked to accompany anyone on a mission or go into field?"

"Of course not, you don't have to worry about anything like that. As I said: it's just like any other job you would be doing in your profession with the special circumstance that most of your patients are agents and in turn you wouldn't have to deal with strangers coming in from the street. It's a friendly environment, really, and there are two other psychologists, so you wouldn't have to do it alone: you'd work in shifts. You of course wouldn't be allowed to work with James for example."

"That sounds to be just what I am looking for…"

"Then consider it, Madeleine! Talk to HR, it still doesn't oblige you to anything." – Bond looked hopeful, he probably realized that this was literally the only way they had a chance at making this relationship work. Q felt he had done the right thing, even if he in the reality had had to intervene into the flow of things a tiny bit more than he had just admitted. It was to remain his secret for… well, preferably forever.

"I… I think I will. When could I do it?"

"Tomorrow, if you want to. I'll talk to HR first thing in the morning and get you an appointment for the afternoon."

"That would be fantastic. Thank you."

"You're welcome." – Q knew they'd most probably never become fast friends but he was willing to tolerate – and even help – her as a favor to Bond. In comparison to all the things he'd had to do and risk for the agent in the past, this was really nothing.

They continued lunch while Bond excitedly told Q about how much he was looking forward to his new life with Madeleine _and_ continuing his beloved work. He also again and again pleaded with the boy to not stop going over to him and be his friend. Q in turn assured him repeatedly he would never stop being his friend and would of course still visit him regularly. Dr. Swann still looked like he wanted to murder someone – most probably Q – by all occasions when the conversation turned into that direction but other than that she really didn't say much, clearly preferring to eat in silence instead.

It was well after 10 PM when they finished (even Q having eaten most of what had been put on his plate while the other two had had two helpings of the delicious food 007 had made), and Q insisted he do the washing up because the cook shouldn't do it and also because (though that latter was only in his thoughts, not spoken out loud) he didn't expect Dr. Swann to even think about helping.

He was therefore very pleasantly surprised when the psychologist herself offered to assist by wiping the plates. So they sent Bond into the living room to watch something on television while the both of them remained in the kitchen and started to work.

Q was just about to voice his gratitude to her for helping when she grabbed his arm rather painfully (nearly making him drop the fork he had been about to wash) and whispered threateningly into his ear:

"I know very well what you are doing, boy." – Well, that made only one of them, because Q honestly didn't have so much as inkling about what she was referring to… But he didn't have time to question her because the explanation soon followed. – "You want to make James feel in debt to you so that you can demand his attention in the future."

Q couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was so ridiculous and he was so tired, that he couldn't say anything to that accusation, so he only burst out in uncontrollable laugh.

"What? Do you find your tactic that funny?"

"My 'tactic'? Dr. Swann, I'm honestly starting to worry that recommending you for the position was a _very_ bad idea on my part. I get that you don't like me but is that nonsense really the best you can come up with?"

"And just why is that so 'nonsense'?"

Oh, for God's sake, he was too tired for that now!

"Lady, you really don't seem to know anything about MI6 at all. Let me spell it out for you very clearly so that even you'll have a chance to get it: I-am-the-Quartermaster. It is my job to work with the agents at all times, oversee their missions, guide them and support them in any way possible. Do you even have an idea how many past occasions I could call to James' mind if I wanted to make him feel indebted to me? Ever since I have known him, he has made it his first priority to get me into trouble and vindicate unauthorized favors from me for himself. Two of them you have personally experienced: one of which nearly cost me my life while both could have cost me my job. I sure wouldn't need to do him any such ridiculous courtesies as getting his Damsel in Distress a job-recommendation just to 'demand his attention'."

"So, you're telling me you're really doing it for me?"

"No, I never said that; of course I'm not doing it for you. Obviously, I care about his happiness and if it's – out of some, for me totally incomprehensible reason – only possible with you then I am going to do anything to support him even in that and help him if I have the means. But I'd do that for any of them and I'm not expecting anything in return."

"Ah, of course, I can totally picture you as Mother Teresa."

"And unfortunately, I don't even have to try to picture you as disgustingly jealous because you are sadly standing in my kitchen in front of me and as dismal as it is: this is reality."

"You think you're very smart, don't you."

"No, I really don't. Others seem to think so though… You would have to ask them for the reason if you're really interested."

She shook him in rage.

"You won't take him away from me. He's _mine_."

"It's funny; I have always had the misbelief that he was a sovereign person. Thank you for clearing things up; it always makes me feel like I had a profitable day when I learn new things."

"You're just a spoiled little brat."

"And you're overstaying your welcome."

"We're going right now."

"See that you do."

With that she shoved Q away, plastered a false smile on her face and left the kitchen to join 007 in the living room.

Bond was sprawled out half-asleep on the sofa and only looked up when Dr. Swann caressed his cheeks.

"Love, it's getting late, we should go. The boy needs to sleep."

"Oh, did you finish already?"

"Yes, between the two of us, it really wasn't so much work. Right, _Q_?"

Sickened by her pretended friendliness, Q thought about the dirty dishes still piled in the sink, waiting for him to clean them and put them away.

"Right, of course. I had help after all."

Bond looked at him worriedly, sensing that something had happened.

"Q? Is everything all right? Is your arm hurting? Why are you rubbing it?"

"What? Oh, no, I mean, yes: I'm fine. I'm just a little cold, that's all."

"Cold? Are you getting sick? Maybe you should stay home tomorrow, you are working yourself to death, I swear."

"I'll be fine, don't worry. I'm just tired, that's all. I'm going to go to sleep and then everything will be just magnificent by tomorrow."

"Well, all right then, if you're sure…"

"I am, don't worry."

"Okay, we won't keep you awake then any longer." – He got up and gathered their coats and bags. – "We'll meet you then tomorrow in Headquarters before Madeleine's interview with HR?"

Q looked at Dr. Swann. She nodded and smiled sweetly.

"I'm so glad about the opportunity!"

The teenager sighed. There was no escaping from it without letting the agent know what a little backstabber monster of a girlfriend he had.

"Yeah, of course. I'll call you once I'll have arranged to appointment."

They all said their goodbyes (Q noticeably cringed when Dr. Swann hugged him, 'accidentally' applying pressure to his hurting arms and gave him a kiss on his forehead), and the two adults left. The boy then went back to the kitchen to clean up the mess, not understanding how things could turn to bad so quickly.

'What a day…'

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

While doing the washing up (rather slowly, thanks to the exhaustion and the pain in his arms) Q was thinking about Dr. Swann's accusations. It hurt him deeply that she would think he was doing it out of selfish reasons, because it was actually quite the contrary. What had he to lose anyway? He had nothing whatsoever… Not like James and Dr. Swann.

Annabel and him had been writing each other during the whole summer holidays that followed his undercover mission. In August, she had traveled with her parents and older sister to France and had told him in countless e-mails all about what a beautiful and dreamlike city Paris was and how much fun they'd been having visiting Disneyland and sightseeing. In turn, he hadn't been able to tell her much interesting things about his own summer, mainly because he hadn't been doing anything but a lot of top secret stuff that involved coordinating dangerous and deadly missions, building gadgets, assigning and overseeing agents' trainings as well as hacking his way into any coded files and systems he had come across… The usual for him and unimaginable for anyone else who wasn't a spy or an agent. But that didn't seem to discourage her at all. Well, not at first at any rate…

Q hadn't thought much of it when her e-mails had become less and less frequent in September, thinking it was natural for her not to have so much time to write during the new school year. Besides, he had been busy trying to negotiate for Bond not to be permanently pulled from duty and his number reassigned just because he had taken a little 'holiday' with Dr. Madeleine Swann. (In the 'beautiful and dreamlike' Paris of course he had never ever been to but everyone else seemed to frequent as if it were just down the street…) He just hadn't noticed the time flying with the stress and constant pressure he had been under.

At the end of September, on the 25th (a date he would most likely never forget) he had gotten an e-mail from her again. In that message, Annabel had guiltily confessed of having met a boy while shopping for school things right before the semester's beginning in the same shopping center they had been to when they had watched the movie. The boy lived not far away from her and went to school just in the town next to them. He was 17 and a real gentleman, and they were able to meet every day after school and spend all weekends together. She was in love with him. She couldn't stop apologizing after that, repeating over and over how she hadn't been planning to fall in love, how it had just happened and how very-very sorry she was about it. She assured him it was not because of him; that he, Q, was her very first love and that she would never forget him, and she hoped they'd have the opportunity to meet again someday and would be able to talk without hard feelings, as friends.

Upon reading each word, Q felt like he could have screamed and/or cried right then and there. Of course, it had not been possible: he had been in Q-Branch, just about to get in contact with 006 to help him get through his assignment: finding and liquidating a very dangerous drug baron that had been terrorizing Prague for months. He had needed to pull himself together and focus. Lives had depended on it. It had not been easy…

When much-much later (around two or three days, he couldn't really tell because he might have fallen unconscious at some point in his office from exhaustion) he had finally managed to get home, he had reread the e-mail at least ten times, even though he, with his photographic memory, had known the whole thing by heard after the first time he had read it. He also had been able to think about things that night a bit. (Because however tired he had been, sleep had evaded him after having received such news… Oh, the following days had been fun. He didn't think he had ever been that tired in his life. At least it had helped him not to think about Annabel.)

He had found he couldn't begrudge the girl for having found someone else, someone more available. Someone who was _real_ and _normal_. Honestly: he had suspected all along that a relationship like that was destined to failure from the very beginning. How could it work when all they had where a few e-mails every once in a while, in which he wasn't even able to tell her anything about himself? Actually, she really didn't know anything about him… There were only so many books and movies they could talk about. Especially since Q didn't even have the time to be up to date with those either.

He had tried to convince himself that it was better this way. He thought it had been pretty unfair of him to leave her right after… Whatever, this way he at least knew she wasn't alone, waiting for his e-mails that didn't give her any comfort or promise for a future together. He wanted her to be happy. She was happy now. It was all fabulous. And so what if now _he_ was alone? Well… not a big change there, was it? Nothing new, nothing to get worked up over.

If anything, he had become richer with an important lesson: the basis of a real, adult relationship was the quality time spent together, and also being able to count on each other in the everyday life. If being with Dr. Swann was really so important for Bond that he had brought her to London to live with him, he couldn't keep disappearing and spending days on end without her (outside of missions, of course, because if work called for it, she had to understand it), having to keep his work and life secret. As Q saw it, this could all be solved by Dr. Swann working with them, being an insider: one of them. They didn't really have to have much secrets among themselves.

That's why he would help her get a job if she so wished. For Bond's happiness. To make sure he wouldn't want to leave again. James Bond was one of his best friends, and also one of his agents. It was his duty as a friend and as the Quartermaster to make sure Bond and all the others were happy and content.

Q went to bed, thinking about how he had also lost Michael's friendship he had so much treasured during his time at school. Life was just shitty, really… At the end of the day, it was always just him alone. The least he could do was making sure it didn't happen to anyone else around him. If you can't help yourself, help others – he thought as he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2.**

The next two weeks went by relatively uneventful – well, in regards to James Bond and Dr. Madeleine Swann, that is.

Dr. Swann had started to work at MI6 right after her first interview with HR, thanks to Q's peremptory intervention that sounded suspiciously like 'if she wants to come, you're going to hire her or else'. HR just hadn't stood a chance against the Quartermaster's will. Not that they wanted to oppose him anyway.

As it turned out, Dr. Madeleine Swann could be quite a good professional whenever she had a patient she didn't hate. And that meant everyone except Q. The teenager didn't really understand it, but also honestly couldn't care less about it. He was just glad he didn't get into an uncomfortable situation for getting a job for someone who was less than perfect.

Now he at least didn't have to worry about it: Dr. Swann was fairly appreciated by colleagues and agents alike; she was friendly with everyone (again, except for Q whom she was avoiding like pest – not that the boy minded of course; quite the contrary, he fully supported the idea and gladly cooperated with it), understood the agents' everyday life and problems fully, had become fast friends with her two co-workers and regularly went out for coffee with Eve whom she had started to regard as best friend.

James Bond was still stuck in London for training until he would be declared by Q fit for active duty but was not fussing about it for the first time in his life. He drove his girlfriend to work every day and mostly also met her at the end of her shift to take her home. He seemed genuinely happy and content with his newfound life.

Q was still avoiding going to his (now _their_ …) flat for the sole reason that he didn't want to meet Dr. Swann there, but tried not to be too obvious about that. He scheduled Bond for all the tests he wanted to run with an agent ("No, 007, this pen is _not_ explosive so please, cease trying to set it on fire!"), had him do excessive training in Q-Branch's field ('You're really out of shape you know.') and also called him to his office to go over past reports to sort out some still unanswered questions about his old missions, from before the time of him becoming Q. (He regularly checked old records just to learn from them and get new ideas.)

By one of these occasions, upon having cleared some aspects of one of Bond's previous missions (007, you can't be _serious_!), the agent was just sitting on the couch in Q's office, drinking coffee and relaxing. The teenager was tinkering with the new pen he was developing (the one that most certainly wasn't explosive but used an ink that was water-resistant and could only be read when being illuminated by a special light), completely engrossed in the task.

That's when Bond unexpectedly cleared his throat – a sound that made the occupied boy jump – and taking a great breath, questioned:

"Is there something wrong?"

"What? Why? Is there a commotion outside by the minions?" – Q asked and tried to look out of the one-way mirror to see if there was anything amiss with his employees. He could see nothing though. It was a quiet time with no current missions to oversee, so Q had let most of his minions have a free day with the select few ones that were present having the dull duty to make random security checks and to install various updates. They were all sitting at their respective desks, running the required programs, some playing Sudoku or Solitaire on their computers in the meantime while others idly chatted away with each other via Messenger, all trying to look very busy even though the boy could see they were nearly falling from their chairs in boredom. Q had promised to give them a long weekend in exchange for today's work. – "I can't see anything unusual…"

"I meant with you, Q! You said you weren't angry with me but still: you are avoiding having anything to do with me outside of HQ. But you're also arranging me to be here with you a lot, so… I don't understand. Please, tell me what happened. I just want to understand."

"I… It's nothing."

"Don't you think I deserve to know? You go to Tanner's, Moneypenny's, hell, even to M's regularly! You meet all the agents after work all the time and organize outings for your little minions. But when I ask you to come to us or to go somewhere with us, you're always too busy. What the hell?"

All right, maybe it was really time to tell Bond because at this stage, lying to him would only cause more pain.

"It's not you, it's Doctor Swann. She doesn't like me."

"What? Why would you say that?"

"Because it's the truth!"

"No, it's not! She has her job thanks to you! If anything, she should be most grateful to you."

"Yes, 'should' being the key word…"

"She loves it here!"

"Oh, come on, James, are you really that naïve and blind? She just resents me even more for that. She is jealous of our friendship and wants me as far away from the two of you as possible. I'm just honoring her wish."

"I… don't understand. I'm sure you're wrong. I just can't believe it, sorry."

"Well, whatever. You asked. Why do you ask if you don't want to hear the answer?"

"Because I asked for the truth and not for a lie! You're really behaving like a jealous child right now."

" _I'm_ jealous!?"

"Well, yes, it seems you are! Next you're gonna start stomping and screaming like a toddler, throwing things in fury just because you feel you didn't get your way."

" _Excuse me!?_ Is that what you think of me? That I'm a raging baby?"

"Right now you are absolutely childish and immature, yes. I have repeatedly told you that my relationship with Madeleine won't influence our friendship but it seems you can't accept it anyway. I'm sorry if you feel like that but there's nothing more I can do or say."

"Then don't; you have already said enough."

"Right, I think I'd better go."

"Of course, just go then, that's what you do, isn't it? Just go away whenever you're about to encounter a problem."

Bond shot him a glare that could have been meant to actually kill him. When he spoke, his voice was icy cold with barely contained anger.

"May I ask just what you mean by that statement?"

"You really don't even realize, do you? God, it's actually incredible! It never even occurred to you how you left us after the whole Spectre-fiasco to deal with everything while you were away traveling around the world a little bit just for fun?"

"So you _are_ angry!"

"Of course I am" – That's it; he had said it. It was out. No way to take it back anymore. – "But not for what you think. Not for falling in love with Doctor Swann and wanting to be with her. I'm angry because just after Bill, M, Moneypenny and I risked our jobs, not to mention our very _lives_ to help you, you had the nerve to just simply turn your back on us and leave without a word! And afterwards? When you came back just to take the damned _car_!? Not even a proper goodbye? It was such a disgusting thing to do I can't even find the right words for it. I lied to M! I travelled hours and hours to Austria just to have to flee alone from an attempt kidnapping! Then we were shot at, and nearly killed and you were also nearly killed – in fact, we _thought_ you had been killed – and then when it was all over you just left and we remained here flabbergasted, standing on top of a pile of rubbish we had to sort out! We faced Government inquiry! Then I had to fight M who in turn had to fight the Government to not have you replaced.

"Are you done?"

"No, I'm not! Because you still don't realize all these. Or the fact that despite claiming to love Doctor Swann you brought her back to a life she had at least three times openly declared to want to leave for good. Even I heard it. And now she's struggling because she agreed to make the sacrifice and come back with you only because she doesn't want to lose you and you won't even believe me when I tell you that she has a problem with this situation. I have enough of a common sense to know that her behavior towards me is not entirely personal. She just feels I was a deciding factor of your wanting to come back. Though I have my doubts because you only think of yourself, nobody else and-"

"Q, I think it's quite enough, I-"

"you only came back when _you_ started missing this life. Until then you didn't even ask about us, what we were feeling, how we were dealing with _your_ mess. Because you just don't care!"

"Are you finished now?"

"Yes, I am!"

"Good. Just one more thing: don't you dare talk about how many hours you had to travel to Austria because first I didn't ask you to come after me so I'm not responsible for anything that happened there to you and secondly you could have just taken a flight and be there in third of the time it took you with the train. Oh, that you're afraid of flying? The poor baby! This is the most childish thing I've ever heard."

And with that, James Bond left Q-Branch and didn't return the following days at all.

Q just blinked then felt white-hot rage fill him at Bond's words. A rage that just grew and grew until he couldn't hold it back anymore. He shouted like a wounded animal and threw the first thing that got into his hands with full force against the wall. It was the half-finished prototype pen he had been working on for so long and he felt a certain kind of satisfaction upon hearing it shuttering to pieces.

Three minions rushed into his office in panic.

"Sir, is everything all right? What happened?"

Q just looked at them, rage gone, now feeling desperately abandoned and helpless.

"Yeah, everything is fine, Marcus. Excuse me, I really need to go."

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

The deeply wounded teenager ran down to Q-Branches garage where they usually worked on the agents' cars and did something he had never done before: he stole one of the cars and drove it out into London's traffic. He didn't have a license and he didn't care either.

Nobody had ever teased him about his fear even though he had never told anyone why exactly he was afraid of flying. He knew Bond most probably wouldn't have mocked him if he knew that his parents had died in a plane crash. And that he had been there too as a two-year-old, spending weeks in coma afterwards – the sole survivor of the crash… And still, it didn't make him feel any better. Not knowing the reason was no excuse making fun of someone's fear, was it?

He drove and drove though the city then out of it. He drove to the airport and stopped just outside where he could see the planes taking off and landing. He sat on the hood of the car, just watching – flinching each time he heard the engine of the planes. He was shaking and couldn't tell if it was because of being out in the autumn-cold without a coat, because of anger and hurt or because of the terror he felt being this close to a dreaded place. Probably all together.

'It's childish. Childish. I can do this. I can at least _watch_ them! I'm childish but I'll work on it. I'll stop this nonsense.' – This mental mantra didn't help him much but still he spent at least three hours just sitting there, freezing and suffering.

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

"You're depressed." – Stated Sherlock three days later, looking absolutely unconcerned about the discovery. But Q knew better: both his brothers were fiercely protective of him and just as lethal as any Double-O on their worst day for anyone who dared to hurt their 'baby brother'.

"No, I'm not." – The boy tried even though he knew there was no way he could hide anything from the master of deductions.

"Yes, you are. You're not eating, not sleeping and drinking Earl Grey like your life depends on it."

Q looked at his third cup of tea (Or was it the fourth? He couldn't very well keep track anymore…) in front of him dejectedly.

"This is English Breakfast tea."

Sherlock just stared at him in a way that shouted 'your point?'.

Q sighed.

"Please, just don't begin to explain how you've come to that conclusion because of my rumpled clothes and messy hair, a state that's obviously not fitting for someone of my position…"

"I was about to say that your eyes look haunted and you have dark circles under them but well, those you mentioned are very true as well."

"Gee, thanks…"

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

"I... I think-"

"Wait: does this have anything to do with _feelings_? Because then I might not be the best person to give you advice. John says I have the emotional intelligence of an old, well-worn hat… If someone is physically hurting you, on the other hand…"

"No, it's okay. Don't worry about it. So, Sherlock, I think you should tell me why you called me here in the middle of a Wednesday when I should be in the office working instead of sitting with you in a café."

Sherlock still looked calculatingly at him but then let the matter drop for the time being.

"I need your help with something." – He opened his bag that until that point had been carefully tucked away under his chair and took out his laptop, opening it and handing it over to the teenager over their cups of tea. – "Lestrade called me for this case a few days ago. There are supposed to be some important information on this pen drive I found it at the crime scene (he handed Q the mentioned pen drive as well), but it's password protected. I didn't have time to hack it-"

"Meaning that you tried and failed."

"-so _for lack of time_ I ask you to do it. I have more important matters to attend to after all: I have a murderer to catch." – Finished Sherlock, impatiently waiting for Q to miraculously produce all the answers for him right away.

"Oookay… For when do you need it?"

"Preferably for yesterday."

"Very funny."

"Really, brother dear, it's a very pressing case. Anderson and Donovan are already throwing a party over my supposed failure. Can't you do it now?"

"I need to get back to work!"

"Do you really need me to say it? Ah… all right: I can't do it, so _please_ help me!"

"Ah, for God's sake! Oh… I don't know why I put up with you…" – complained Q but went to work on the problem anyway. It had absolutely nothing to do with the distraction it provided from his problems of course. He didn't have problems so he didn't need a distraction. Period.

As it turned out, the pen drive was not only password protected (which had been ridiculously easy to hack by the way) but the data on it was also encrypted. It took Q a little over an hour to decipher all 213 pages of it completely. Afterwards, he kept staring at the screen, feeling insulted by the lack of challenge it had provided for him.

Sherlock demonstrated his gratitude by telling Q he should try to wash his face in ice-cold water so that maybe the puffiness of his eyes would disappear a bit. It was just as well – that was the kind of 'thank you' he at least knew how to respond to: he kicked his brother under the table then quickly gathered his things and stood up to return to MI6 and his own work.

"You should talk to John. He can be very understanding and usually has good ideas to solve emotional problems. He knows what's proper and what's not. He always tells me if something I'm doing is 'a bit not good', which usually means I'm being the greatest jerk ever."

"Well, then he must be very tired of repeating the phrase over and over again…"

"Very funny, Benedict. But I mean it: talk to someone before you collapse dead. You really are in a frightening state and just think about the paperwork it would cause us if you happened to die. Even Mycroft would have to get out of his way to avoid scandal."

"Good bye, Sherlock."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3.**

The invitation (more like demand) from Mycroft in form of an SMS to join him for dinner that very day was by no means unexpected but very much unwelcome. He'd just known Sherlock would tell their older brother of his deductions about the youngest Holmes boy's emotional state. The sneak… Well, Mycroft was at least texting him and didn't just kidnap him like he would have done with anyone else. There was maybe some level of respect in play but it would at once disappear should Q as much as think about ignoring the message.

As trying to get out of such an invitation was useless, Q – after there had remained really no more way to prolong the inevitable anymore – finished his work for the day and headed for the subway that would take him to Holmes manor. But before that he had attempted to right himself by splashing ice cold water on his face for minutes in the bathroom, knowing very well he had to look at least somewhat presentable in front of his older brother, lest he be even more unbearable than usual with asking questions and pestering him about his well-being.

Upon arrival he was greeted by Anthea at the door. She took one look at him and frowned. Great, so the cold water hadn't been much help at all… She – very uncharacteristically for her – embraced him and led him into the dining room where Mycroft was already sitting at the table, reading a newspaper.

Q sat down and quietly waited to be acknowledged. It was never a good idea to bother Mycroft when he was reading about politics.

"That migrant crisis is getting more and more worrisome, wouldn't you say, little brother?"

"Ahm…"

"As member of MI6 you surely must have some knowledge on the matter?"

"Of course. And as member of MI6 I'm surely not allowed to talk about anything like that with anyone outside of work… The 'British Government' himself not being an exception in this case."

"Very true. Let's talk about something else then." – He put down the paper and assessed the boy long and hard, making the teenager fidget nervously on his seat. – "You're sickly pale, very thin and look like a train had run you over."

"You know what? I've changed my mind: can't we talk about the migrants instead please?"

"Nope. But you can tell me right away what's wrong with you and why I had Sherlock calling me in near panic this afternoon to do something about you before you – I quote – 'fall deeper than we can reach'?"

"Does anyone know why Sherlock does things?"

"Don't try to divert from the topic; it won't work."

Q sighed and ran his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes tiredly. How long had it been that he hadn't slept? It must be three days again… Not a record for him, but still…

"I'm fine."

"Sure, and I'm not the Ice Man."

"Oh, so you know you're called that? We have always tried to spare you from having to hear it… Apparently all our efforts were in vain."

"Benedict… No diverting!"

"Fine! So, I had a row with a friend, all right? That's all."

"And that's the reason you're killing yourself? And people say I'm wrong in not wanting or needing to have _friends_ …"

"I'm not killing myself."

"Oh, and what would you call it then? I can say sulking of course but the result will be the same."

"Go to hell, Mycroft, I'm out of here!"

"The hell you are! Sit back this instant. You're not going anywhere before you eat a full meal and sleep for at least eight hours straight."

"I'm not going to sleep here, forget it!" – But he sat back down nevertheless, especially since he didn't feel strong enough to move anyway. Having jumped up in rage had left him quite dizzy to tell the truth.

"Yes, you are. This is ridiculous. You don't take your health serious at all. Ever since you've lived away from here you're meticulously destroying yourself and what's worse: you don't even realize it! We already had to worry about you when you were born and then after the accident. I absolutely refuse to put up with this nonsense anymore. Sherlock's right, we have to do something."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to be such an inconvenience! But then maybe you should let me go so that you won't have to worry about me, hmm?"

"Nice try, but forget it brother dear: you're stuck here with me until I say otherwise."

"I need to go to work tomorrow."

"I honestly couldn't care less."

"You can't keep me here, I'm legally an adult, this is false imprisonment!"

"As you so rightfully said: I am the British Government. I can do whatever the hell I want to."

"You don't mean it!"

"Try me."

The two brothers sat opposite each other and glared daggers, Q noticeably angrier than Mycroft who looked totally calm about the whole situation. This was the scene Anthea entered into, to announce the arrival of their dinner. She also informed them she had ordered it from the finest restaurant she had been able to find and that they'd have more menus to choose from. Neither Holmes brother paid her any attention though so she just shrugged and put the boxes onto the table in front of them. She was not her boss' servant after all.

"Sir, if there's nothing for me to do today anymore, may I go home?"

"Of course, Anthea, and thank you for your assistance." – Answered Mycroft without taking his eyes off of his little brother.

"You're welcome, sir, good bye. See you soon, Benedict!" – And with that, she was gone, leaving the two of them alone, not at all bothered by their behavior, being already accustomed to all the Holmeses' eccentrics.

"So, Benedict—"

"Don't say my name!" – Hissed the boy with venom.

"- what would you like to eat? There is grilled chicken, roasted turkey, fried chicken breast; grilled- or stewed vegetables; mashed-, boiled- or fried potatoes; fried mushrooms; different kinds of salad…" – Listed Mycroft looking through the boxes, apparently having chosen to not respond to the boy's outburst in any way.

"I'm not hungry!" – That was a lie but he just wanted to be as difficult as possible right now. Well, all right, this might have been childish behavior but so what? He had already been accused unjustly of behaving like a child more than once in these past few days, so he might as well earn the title posteriorly then.

"Tough luck, because that's not what I asked."

"Then I don't care." – He even crossed his arms for good measure and stuck his lower lip out in a pout.

Mycroft just rolled his eyes and served him a little bit of everything. Q hadn't eaten so much food during all his meals of the last two months put together!

"You must be joking!"

"Can you see me laughing? Just eat, it's surely not too complicated for a genius like yourself?"

"I won't!"

"Well, all right then, but you're still going to sit here and wait for me to finish."

"And if I just walk away?"

"Then I'll see myself obligated to give you a good spanking for the first time ever in your life. You behave like a spoiled toddler: you get treated like one."

"Bastard."

"Lovely, Benedict. Maybe I'll even wash out your mouth with soap."

Q continued to sulk and grumble for about five minutes more, then gave in to hunger and eagerly dug into his food. It was really very good and he realized he was even hungrier than he had thought. He would never admit it though so he made a long-suffering noise to show the displeasure he wasn't so sure he was actually feeling.

Mycroft rolled his eyes again.

In the end he also let himself be bullied into taking a few bites of some crepes with Nutella and bananas and even though in Mycroft's opinion he still hadn't eaten enough by the end of their mealtime, he felt like he would explode.

"That's because you starve yourself." – Explained his brother patiently when he complained about not feeling well. – "If you ate normally like anyone else, you wouldn't have this problem."

"And you wouldn't have to worry about your weight if you ate _less normally_." – It was meant to cause pain at the moment he said it, but somehow he regretted it right after it had left his mouth. What the hell was wrong with him!? He had never behaved like that, not even when he was little, and now he just couldn't seem to stop himself. – "I'm sorry…" – He said and for once he meant it too.

"Benedict, I get that you're angry at the whole world right now and I don't doubt that something very frustrating must have happened to you… But don't you think you're a bit out of line here?"

"Well… I might be… just a bit… ahm… funny right now… I don't understand it myself…"

"All right. Go upstairs and take a long, relaxing bath. I'm going to prepare your room in the meantime. You know where you can find everything. I'm going to give you some of my cloths as pajamas. You'll just have to tie the pants to your hips or something to not lose them."

"Mycroft, really, I have to go home, tomorrow-"

"Tomorrow you are going to eat breakfast with me then I'll take you to your flat to quickly dress. I'll also drive you to Vauxhall afterwards; I have things to do nearby anyway: errands to run. Don't worry, I won't learn anything about your secret job this way, you can just get out of the car in front of the building then run inside so that nobody will ever find out who you were travelling with."

"You really don't have to go to these lengths for me! I can just go home now and-"

"Sorry, but did I ask your opinion about it? I had the impression I stated how things are going to be."

Okay, Q was really starting to get exasperated now.

"Mycroft, you can't do this, I'm an adult!"

"I beg to differ. Right now you are my little brother going through a difficult phase that's potentially dangerous and self-destructive. Sherlock's worried and I have to admit: when I saw you enter today, I could totally understand his concern. So march upstairs, mister, there's no point in arguing with me. You should have learned by now that I always win."

That was sadly true, so Q gave up and resigned himself to sleep in his old childhood room – for the first time since he had left it at twelve years of age.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4.**

Q had been sleeping for about two hours when he violently jerked awake, breathing heavily as if he had run a marathon, without knowing the reason for it. He was so very tired but he just couldn't sleep! And this was not the first night it had happened either.

He angrily got out of bed and started walking up and down in his old room, looking around, taking everything in. Nothing had changed; everything was still the same as he had left it four years ago. But it was cleaned and totally fresh. Why Mycroft had not thrown everything out when he had been in the belief for nearly two years that his little brother was dead, was beyond Q's understanding. This place surely could have become the perfect storage room or something.

He was just about to turn around for the fifth time to resume his pacing when the door opened slightly and very quietly. Then – as Mycroft realized Q was awake – it opened all the way and his oldest brother stepped in, looking worried.

"What are you doing still up? I thought you were asleep."

"Well, I thought so too!" – Raged the boy helplessly, feeling very tired and irritated. He angrily ran his hand through his hair, making it even messier than before.

"Insomnia?"

"Maybe… I don't know. I don't understand anything!" – By now he was sobbing and he understood it even less. Was there something wrong with him? There was really no need for that absurd reaction to a perfectly normal question.

Mycroft grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the room, into his own, where only the small lamp on the nightstand was giving some light, leaving the room in a comforting semi-darkness. It was evident Mycroft had been just about to turn in himself, only wanting to check up on his little brother before going to sleep.

The oldest Holmes sat his younger sibling onto the bed, pulled the cover up and around his shoulders, and hugged him to his side, to just let him cry until it subdued a little a few minutes later. He then softly asked:

"Are you better now?"

"I…" – Q wanted to say 'fine' but found that for the first time ever, he just couldn't bring himself to lie that even to himself. – "I don't think I am."

"Honest, for once. Of course you're not all right."

"But why not? I don't know what's happening!"

"What are you feeling?"

"Right now?" – At Mycroft's nod he thought about it for a while before answering. – "I'm just so angry at everything! At the whole world I mean. I feel like whatever I do, it's never good enough… oh, scratch it: just never _good_ at all. If I try to help, it backfires. I don't think I do harm to anyone but still, there's always someone who hates me for seemingly no reason at all. Whenever I think things will be all right, it turns out that they are just about to become bad. My so-called friends treat me like I'm there to provide for them (well, all right, in the job I actually am, but still) and then when they're bored of me, I can just be shoved aside until the next time they want something. They of course say it's not like this. As a matter of fact: they try to assure me of just the opposite but then I say something they don't like (and it was the truth, I swear!) they just abandon me because it's easier than accepting the facts." – He had totally run out of breath by now and was sobbing again, helplessly clinging to his brother. – "Myc, please, just _please_ , don't say that you have said that my whole life and it's my fault I wanted to have friends… I couldn't bear to hear it, not now. Please."

"I won't say that. I can only say that I'm honestly very sorry."

"What? What are you sorry about? I'm the one who verbally attacked you a few hours ago and is now bawling his eyes out on your shoulders… Shit, Myc, _I'm_ sorry…"

"You don't have to be. I think it's most probably all my fault. Well, and to some extent Sherlock's, but I'm certainly more to blame."

"For what? I don't understand. I don't understand anything! What's happening around me!?"

"Let me explain something to you we should have told you years ago but never got around to do it owing to our own stupidity…" – And Mycroft, for the first time ever, talked to his little brother honestly about what they felt like when he had been born and the doctors had said they'd barely have time to see him once and say goodbye before he would die. He also told him what it had been like when – just mere minutes after learning they had lost both their parents in a plane crash – they had been told that their then two-year-old little brother was in a coma and might never wake up or if he did, it was still impossible for him to be healthy. – "So, even though you knew the facts already, it is the first time I told you about what it was like for us. What we felt, how crushed we were."

"I'm sorry, I never thought… I wouldn't have… Oh, God. And then I went and faked my death…"

"The worst day of my life. Of Sherlock's too."

"Surely, when Mom and Dad…"

"No! That was the second worse. The worse was the day we were called to the scene of a hit and run to identify the few recognizable objects that were allegedly everything that remained of our little brother."

"Oh, Jesus. I never wanted that. I… I thought neither of you would care that much."

"You thought we wouldn't _care_!?" – Mycroft looked like he honestly couldn't believe his ears.

"No, I mean, I didn't think you'd grieve that much. You're not the emotional types…"

"Well, little brother, I must admit, you may be the smartest person I've ever met but I surely messed up your raising splendidly. And that's why I said I was sorry. It was the stupidest thing ever to keep you at home and try to shelter you from the disappointments and dangers of the world. That's the reason you were totally unsusceptible to our pain and why you are absolutely unable to understand people now. We couldn't teach you to be normal because we're not normal. It's all my fault and the reasons behind it are the ones I just told you about: the fear of losing you, wanting to protect you after everything that had happened. It backfired spectacularly and now it comes back to haunt all of us."

"I'm so sorry. I should never have thought I'd be able to deal with the outside world. I should have remained here, where I didn't have to worry about what is expected of me. And I should never have hurt you the way I did…"

"I agree with the last sentence but the others are rubbish. You have a job where you're respected. Respected for yourself, because they like you, not out of fear like I am. You have friends. Not just one friend and a couple of companions like Sherlock but real friends who love you like family. Don't try to deny it because that's what you always say aside from now; and admit it: you're not being the most reasonable in that particular moment. So today doesn't count because you're heartbroken and see things much darker than they really are."

"I don't think I'm wrong in saying that I've lost one of my dearest friends…"

"Why do you think that?"

"Because he is very angry with me for something I said. It was the truth but maybe it was 'a bit not good' to say it to him, as Doctor Watson would say."

"I generally value honesty. What did you tell him?"

"I told him his new girlfriend hates me because she thinks I want to monopolize his time and that this is the reason I avoid visiting him nowadays."

"Does his girlfriend really hate you? Are you sure of that?"

"Yes. It became quite obvious when she nearly tore out my arm of its socket as a warning to leave them alone."

"What!?" – Sherlock suddenly sprang into the room and tried to disentangle Q from the blanket to check him over, looking for injuries. – "I just knew someone was hurting you again! I'm going to kill her! She's going to die a slow and painful death!"

"Sherlock!" – The teenager shrieked and tried to wiggle away from the maniac middle brother. – "Where did you come from? How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to know that I have to hunt for a woman who dared hurt my little brother!" – His eyes were particularly sparkling with fury.

"Sherlock, Benedict, both of you calm down!" – Came the voice of reason from the oldest brother. – "It's not nice to eavesdrop Sherlock and please, do try not to strangle our little brother."

"If I don't eavesdrop, I'll never find out anything. Nobody ever tells me what's going on!"

"Gee, I wonder why that would be…" – But Q let him check his arms anyway, figuring it was easier to give in than to fight with him then embarrassingly lose in the end. That would have hurt his pride even more. Besides, there wasn't any sign of Doctor Swann's fingers digging into him on his arms anymore. – "Besides, I thought you didn't need us telling you anything? Can't you deduce it, hmm?"

Mycroft stopped their argument with a glare.

"He arrived just a few minutes ago, don't worry. I think he also might have brought you some clothes for tomorrow?"

"Naturally. It was obvious he would sleep here and need a new set of outfit for work. Though I have to admit, I don't see why you bother, Benedict, all of your pullovers and cardigans look the same. Did you take fashion lessons from John?"

"You went into my flat?"

"Of course. How else was I supposed to get your things?"

"Ahm… don't take it the wrong way: but you weren't…" – Q climbed back under the covers again: it was very cold in the room. Mycroft helped him get comfortable while Sherlock took off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand. He also might have brushed back a few errand curls from his forehead; he couldn't be sure, he was too tired. Maybe it had all been a dream or a hallucination. – "Everyone hates me now…" – He lamented half-asleep.

"That's not true. Just because you had a fight with your friend, it won't make him hate you."

"Well, he does. He asked me what my problem was, I told him and in turn he didn't believe me. He just got angry then in turn I got angry, I said a few other things I might have better left unsaid… though they're true as well… and then he left and hasn't come back ever since…"

"When was that?" – Asked Mycroft, running his left hand through the teenager's hair absentmindedly.

"Three days ago… And he also said my fear of flying was the most childish thing ever. Maybe he's right. Is he right?"

"No, Benedict, he isn't." – Sighed Mycroft sadly.

"The bastard." – Stated Sherlock simply and looked like he wanted nothing more than to go and kill the man, regardless of him being a dangerous Double-O agent (though he didn't know that) with a license to kill, as opposed to Sherlock who would most probably end up either dead or in jail with a life sentence.

"It's my fault, not his."

"Why would it be your fault that he's absolutely blinded by a woman and doesn't see what's right in front of his very nose?"

"Caring is a disadvantage, I always say…" – Piped in Sherlock with his infinite wisdom.

Q ignored him and answered Mycroft's question instead:

"Because it always is… My fault, I mean. I never know what's expected of me. I just can't decide. I'm fully incapable of social interactions. I didn't even manage to fit in with the other students in school."

"That may be because you never went to school." – Reminded him his oldest brother confusedly.

The boy just shrugged, too tired to explain about his undercover mission that was top secret anyway.

"I never fit in anywhere. I'm too different."

His brothers might have said something more to that but if they did, he didn't hear it anymore. Mycroft's bed was too comfortable and he was too tired to resist… He fell asleep and for once slept undisturbed.

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

"His things are in that bag." – Sherlock pointed at a sack in the corner of the living room once they had left the master bedroom, quietly closing the door behind them so as not to disturb its slumbering occupant.

"Thanks for bringing them by. At least this way I can let him sleep a bit longer tomorrow."

"He shouldn't be going anywhere tomorrow. He's not well at all."

"Do you think I don't know that? But trying to keep him locked up didn't do us any good in the past, did it?"

"It's serious this time, Mycroft."

"Indeed it is. And if we want him to accept our help then keeping him a prisoner is not the way to achieve it. We have to tread carefully; he managed to outsmart us when he was twelve. Now he's nearly seventeen, a legal adult and a computer genius who's not afraid to go to any lengths to reach his goal. We don't stand a chance if he really wants to avoid us."

"He's anorexic."

"Yes. He got sick from eating quarter of a normal portion at dinner."

"He's also absolutely miserable and I don't believe it's just that stupid argument he had with that …... I don't want to say what. It was more like the last straw than anything else."

"I agree. I've never seen him behave this way… It's like he snapped or something, losing control completely over his anger and frustration. Quite frightening, really. Even you weren't that hopelessly broken on your worst days; and that says a lot, considering that I had to pick you up in a drug den more than once."

"Thanks for reminding… He really raged?"

"Yes. I think he needed it. And at least he didn't break things like someone else who went through a difficult phase around that age…"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Sure you don't."

"We all know you're the only perfect one of us, Mycroft, you don't have to prove it all the time."

"I wish I were… Then maybe we wouldn't be here right now. Not like this, anyway."

"But we are. So, what do we do?"

"I'm going to pay a visit to MI6 Headquarters soon. I think it's due anyway: random Government control and all… I want to see what's going on in there and it's clear Benedict won't tell us anything voluntarily ever. Even half asleep he can be careful enough not to reveal any names or data that could give us a clue about what he really does there daily. I think I have respected his wish to keep us out of that part of his life long enough."

"I'm going with you."

"Sherlock-"

"Don't you 'Sherlock' me, Mycroft! He's my little brother, too!"

"All right, all right! But it can't be right now, I need to arrange it first to make it look real. So don't do anything until that Sherlock, I warn you!"

Sherlock faked a hurt look.

"Just what do you think of me, brother dear? Me and rash, unpredictable behavior? I don't even know what it is."

"I suspect Doctor Watson and Inspector Lestrade would have some carefully chosen words to say to that… You know I believe a birthday surprise will be prudent for our eccentric genius of a little brother, delivered directly into his workplace."

Sherlock didn't look pleased.

"Another two and a half weeks… Well, all right, I promise not to do anything until then."

They would wait until Benedict's birthday if that was what it took to learn the truth finally but even until then they would keep an eye on the boy all the time. They wouldn't let anything happen to him. They'd failed with him once; they wouldn't let that occur again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5.**

The next morning, Q just wouldn't wake up when Mycroft tried to rouse him in time to get to work. All he did was mumble something unintelligible that could be interpreted as 'leave me alone' if someone really tried and turn to the other side, away from the disturbance, pulling the covers up over his head at the same time. Mycroft reached over with difficulty to feel the boy's forehead and frowned. Most definitely a fever there.

He decided to let the teenager sleep a little while longer before giving him some meds and maybe calling a doctor if the fever wouldn't go down in a few hours. And he of course wouldn't let his brother leave the house that day so work was definitely out of question. There was no need trying to reach anyone, MI6 would realize on their own that one of their workers was missing but knowing huge organizations like that, wouldn't really care about one man being absent. They surely had hundreds of computer geeks like Benedict there at any time of the day anyway. They wouldn't miss him.

Three hours later Q was still oblivious to the world and no amount of caressing his hair and repeatedly calling his name had brought any result. (There might have been a 'sod off' as answer somewhere but the oldest Holmes couldn't be sure.) Mycroft was starting to honestly worry about the young boy. So he did what he rarely considered doing: called Sherlock.

 _Mycroft, what's up?_

I don't know what to do.

 _Why? What happened? Is this Anthea's day off and you can't make your morning coffee?_

Very funny! Benedict is sick. He has a high fever and won't wake up.

 _What!? Did you try to tickle his soles? It always helped when he was little and faked being asleep…_

He's not faking this time, genius!

 _All right, all right, I was just checking… Did you call a doctor?_

I'm calling one right now… Do you think Doctor Watson could come over…?

 _He's in his practice; I'll call him to ask when he could make himself free._

Thanks. I'm worried…

 _I'm not, he'll be fine._

Mycroft didn't have an idea what Sherlock could have said to Doctor Watson, but both of them arrived together not half an hour after the phone call. The three men (two Holmeses and one Watson) made their way upstairs into Mycroft's bedroom where Q was still sleeping soundly, not a care in the world for once.

John quickly checked the boy over, running his hands down his back, feeling all the rips protruding through his pajamas.

"Has he lost a lot of weight recently?" – He asked frowning.

"He has always been thin but I guess he might have lost some weight, yes." –Sherlock tried to remember back a few months, picturing his little brother, trying to determine if he was slighter now than back then.

"Has he been in a considerable amount of stress these past few days?"

"YES!" – Answered both older Holmes brothers confidently. If there was something they were sure of about their little brother, it was the fact that he was indeed in a lot of stress practically constantly.

"Has he been sleeping?"

"I don't think so." – Chanced Mycroft.

"I see. Well, you'll be glad to hear that there really is nothing else wrong with him but emotional and physical exhaustion. The fever is a way for his body to cope. It's not dangerously high or anything, so I say we leave him alone for now."

"But he wouldn't wake up…"

"And he shouldn't. He needs to sleep and then when he wakes up, he'll have to eat. After a few days of resting and eating normally he should be all right."

"So, there's nothing wrong with him?" – Wanted to clarify Not-at-all-Worried-Sherlock.

"Not really. But having been in this weakened state for who knows how long could mean he's caught a nasty cold along the way, so don't panic if he starts to cough or sneeze. Was he not unusually cold in the evening yesterday?"

"He was. Freezing, actually. Even though it is not cold here."

"Then as I said: the poor thing has also caught a cold. I'll leave here some medicine for him but don't wake him just to take them, unless the fever gets worse. Sleep is the most important thing for him right now."

"All right. Thank you very much, Doctor Watson."

"Anytime. Call me if there's any change. If there is nothing, I'll come by tomorrow after my shift to check up on him again."

"Thank you again; I hope he'll be much better by then."

John hurried back to his work, while Sherlock and Mycroft sat stubbornly beside their sick little brother's bed for hours, keeping watch over him, just like they had done when he was little.

Q woke late in the afternoon, totally disoriented and still very exhausted. He refused to eat anything, however hard their brothers tried to force him, but drank an incredible amount of tea. Not Earl Grey though, as Mycroft insisted that being this sick called for Peppermint tea with honey. At first Q grimaced at the taste and glared daggers at his brothers with a betrayed expression but then decided it was better than nothing and gulped it down obediently.

"Wow, he's much easier to handle when he's sick." – Observed Sherlock thoughtfully, referring to the fact that Q had absolutely no idea where he was and what he was doing, so he mostly just did what they told him to. – "Pity, it doesn't extend to food…"

The teenager wasn't aware enough to wonder about being in Holmes manor or even ask about work. He just lay in the bed, looking up at the ceiling as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, sometimes murmuring things that sounded like 'laser guns like lightsabers' and 'stun projectile built into a watch'. At one point he even attempted to get up, claiming he had to 'speak to M about getting the new hoverboard authorized'. He ended up tangled in the sheets and nearly falling off the bed. The two elder Holmes brothers tucked him back properly, and assured him it would be all right if he didn't talk to 'R' right now and that yes, even 'Overlords' had the right to rest every once in a while so the 'minions' wouldn't think badly of him for that. And no, he wasn't being a bad example. The boy was clearly delirious and talking nonsense but they didn't have any choice but to humor him right now.

With great difficulty, they got him to take the medications that John had left for him ("No, Benedict, these are not cyanide capsules, I swear! Whatever that even means…"), after which the sick teenager finally fell asleep again, with his last conscious energy muttering "Good, I don't want to lose half my face. It would look very ugly and disgusting." into his pillow.

"God, what kind of horror movies does he watch to dream about things like that? No wonder he can't sleep!"

"I don't know, I didn't even understand half of what he said. What the heck are 'minions'?"

Sherlock looked them up on his cell phone then showed a picture to Mycroft.

"I suppose these are the minions."

Both looked at the yellow creatures that wore glasses and dungarees with disgust.

"These look like Kinder Surprise Eggs playing dress-up!" – Exclaimed Mycroft.

Sherlock showed him another picture.

"This is the Overlord."

"Oh my God! That's horrible! Brr… If next he'll want to talk to the Smurfs, I'm calling a psychiatrist." – Promised Mycroft.

Sherlock resisted the urge to ask how in the world Mycroft even knew about the Smurfs. He didn't ask because for that he would have to admit that _he_ himself knew them. That was unacceptable, so he just kept quiet.

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

Meanwhile MI6 was in chaos. The Quartermaster hadn't shown up in the morning for his shift. He had never ever been late a minute and now he had been missing for a day, without any trace.

Two agents had been sent to his flat, which they had found completely empty, no sign of the minute genius even having been there in the last days.

Reconstructing the events, they found that the boy usually spent two or three days straight in HQ, taking catnaps on the couch in his office every second day for half an hour or so, and apart from that working nonstop. And of course totally neglecting to eat...

"Why hasn't anybody realized that before?" – Asked M with billowing voice, the anger directed mainly at himself. It was his job to look out for his people after all, especially his right-hand man who was conveniently a teenager with no ability whatsoever to take care of himself.

Everyone cringed but realized it was a rhetorical question, so they wisely remained silent.

"Sir." – Began Moneypenny a few minutes later, her worry overriding her self-preservation instincts. – "Do you think he might have been kidnapped again?" – Referring to the time the boy had been snatched by some kidnappers right from his own flat in the middle of the night. That ordeal had ended very quickly, with Q managing to get away without a scratch before the agents had even successfully constructed a plan to look for him. (No wonder they hadn't been able to do it on their own: planning a mission was normally done by Q himself.)

"I don't know, Miss Moneypenny… But we haven't received any demands and haven't had any security breaches so I'd say it's most probably not the case this time."

"They could be torturing him for information… He would never give them anything so there wouldn't be anything for us to notice!" – Exclaimed Tanner with tears in his eyes.

"Bill, please, try not to think of the worst case scenario right away! He could be anywhere, doing anything. Maybe he's with friends or has travelled abroad, or…"

"Sir, really, you don't honestly believe any of these, do you? He would never disappear without telling anyone about it!"

"I know…"

The search and worrying continued without results for the rest of the day and the whole following night.

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

The next time Q woke it was already the next day, early morning.

As soon as he came to awareness, he instantly got the feeling that something was not right. He opened his eyes and looked around. To his surprise he found himself in Mycroft's bedroom with his two brothers slumbering beside him: Mycroft sitting in an armchair, head slumped forward onto his chest while Sherlock had taken advantage of the fact that Q had slept curled up into a tight ball and had left the end of the bed free for him to take.

Everything rapidly came back to him. God, he had made a fool of himself! He raged and whined like a child then cried on his brothers' shoulders the evening before… Oh, he was never going to live it down! He honestly couldn't say what had happened to him to lose control like that. Never ever had he been like that before.

And now if he didn't get a move on he would also come late to work. Nah, that would be something to talk about for his colleagues, too! He couldn't let that happen!

He quickly jumped over Sherlock and out of bed but just as rapidly realized that his legs wouldn't cooperate with him for some reason and thus he fell with an undignified 'thud' to the floor after which he just sat there, blinking owlishly, confused about everything. Now how had _that_ happened!?

Luckily his small accident woke both his brothers who at once jumped to his aid, Sherlock berating him strictly about his carelessness.

"Really, little brother, what were you thinking? Couldn't you just have woken us to ask for help if you needed to go to the bathroom or get a glass of water or something like that?" – He concluded his chiding, looking strictly at the boy.

"Bathroom? Water? Sherlock, I need to go to work!"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at that, shaking his head in an amused way.

"Work? Little brother, you're certainly not going anywhere! Look, you can't even stand on your two legs!" – That was true… The two older Holmeses tried to pull Q into a standing position but his legs again betrayed him and he would have collapsed to the floor anew if not for four strong arms supporting him, leading (actually, rather _carrying_ but that was something Q would never admit) him back to bed.

"But… What happened? What's wrong with me? Myc, you promised to wake me in time and now I overslept and have to hurry! Let me go!" – The teenager tried to push away from them but only succeeded in falling sideways back onto the bed. – "Really, what's wrong with me!" – He asked again desperately.

"Probably the fever…" – Sherlock sounded unsure and worried. He looked like he was seriously considering calling John back right away instead of waiting for the evening for him to come as promised. Mycroft seemed to agree.

"What fever? Myc, don't tuck me in, I need to dress…"

"As I said, Benedict: you're not going anywhere today or for the next few days to come for that matter!"

"WHAT!? Are you crazy? I need to be in MI6 in less than an hour… I can't neglect my duties."

"I think you might be a little late with that…" – Murmured Sherlock under his breath, earning himself a sharp elbow into his ribs from Mycroft.

"What are you talking about?" – Now Q was really starting to get suspicious, so he – with way more effort than it should have taken at any time or what he would ever have admitted to – sat up in the bed and tried to look authoritative while demanding an answer. Of course, with his tousled, messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, slightly rosy cheeks but otherwise pale complexion and huge, confused green eyes he looked more like an adorable puppy than anything else.

Fortunately, his brothers decided to take pity on him and explain about the state of things instead of teasing him mercilessly they would have otherwise done, had the situation not been so dire.

"Little brother, it's Friday already…" – Started Mycroft gently, watching like a hawk for his reaction. Even Sherlock seemed on edge, ready to catch him, should he attempt to bolt again.

Q had to laugh at that.

"Are you getting senile for your old age, Myc? It's obviously Thursday, given that yesterday was Wednesday."

"No, Benedict, that was two day ago."

"Sherlock, you too? Has everyone gone crazy here?"

"Look, Benedict, try to calm down a little, all right? You're going to make yourself even sicker if you continue like this." – Pleaded with him Mycroft. – "You went to sleep on Wednesday, that's true. I also – as promised – tried to rouse you yesterday morning in time, but you wouldn't budge. You had a high fever and were extraordinarily exhausted. Doctor Watson was here, he instructed us to let you sleep. You didn't wake yesterday at all, aside from talking deliriously absolutely nonsense things about some ridiculous, imaginary yellow creatures. And now you're awake but still very weak and in no way fit enough to even get out of bed, let alone go to work."

Q couldn't believe his ears. It just couldn't be right, could it? His brothers just wanted to get back at him for his behavior the day before. He would undoubtedly deserve it, he was aware of that but still; it seemed very cruel of them.

He got out of bed – this time far more carefully, so he managed to remain at least partially upright – and ignoring his brothers' protests, made his way painfully slowly to the bathroom, grabbing his phone on the way. He firmly shut the door behind himself once he entered and locked it so that none of his two brothers could even think about following him.

Totally exhausted from that much exercise, Q gingerly sat down on the edge of the bathtub and looked at his cell phone. It was in silent mode! How…? He had 21 missed calls, 7 SMSs and 13 e-mails! That was extreme for just one night… Maybe something had happened during that time in HQ?

Deciding not to waste time by reading messages, he called M instead. M picked up on the second ring, sounding panicked and somewhat relieved at the same time and also not very coherent. There was definitely something wrong then!

 _Q! Oh, thank God! What happened, where are you? Are you all right? Did someone hurt you? Do you need help? Should I send the agents? Will you-_

M, what's wrong, why were you all looking for me the whole night? I just saw all the calls and messages.

 _Q, Q, listen to me, it's all right, just tell me where you are and we'll come and get you, okay? Don't worry!_

M, I really need you to tell me what happened in HQ that has all of you so worked up! Is an agent on mission? I thought nobody was scheduled until next week… Has something unexpected come up? Do I have time to go in or should I try to log in first from here?

 _My boy, please, just tell me what happened to you!_ (Now Q was starting to get the feeling they were talking about completely different things and not understanding each other…)

To me? Nothing's happened to me! Apparently something happened in HQ that made you all try to reach me, didn't it? Listen, I know I'm supposed to be available at all times, and I'm very, very sorry, I really don't understand why or how my phone came to be on silent mode. Surely, one of my brothers…

 _Are you with your brothers? Did they hurt you? Are they keeping you against your will?_

What? I don't understand…

 _Are you in danger?_

WHAT!? No! Well, maybe in danger of wanting to kill them for letting me sleep in, but-

 _I want to talk to them! Any of them! Right now!_

You can't talk to them, M, you don't even know them! And besides: why would you want to? Really, I mean it: NOBODY in their right mind wants to talk to them!

 _If they're hurting you then it's high time I finally got to know them!_

Why would they hurt me? That's ridiculous!

 _Then where were you yesterday? You weren't at home, we couldn't reach you in any way, and now you say it's because of your brothers…_ (Now it was Q who started to panic… Oh, God, God, God… Was it true then…?)

Ahm… M… What day is it?

 _Why, it's Friday of course… Q, are you all right? Were you unconscious at some point? Did they-_

Oh, Jesus, I thought they were just pulling my leg… So I really lost a day? God…

 _What are you talking about? Q, I'm coming to get you, just tell me where you are, agents are ready to get going as soon as you tell us where they can find you! Or maybe you don't know? Did you have to hide to make the call? Are they keeping you somewhere unknown? I'm going to have the techs track the call, and-_

You don't need to track me and you couldn't anyway. I've protected my phone against anything like that. But I'll tell you: I'm in my brother's house. My childhood home, actually, and nobody is keeping me here against my will. My brothers told me when I woke up this morning that I had lost a whole day while asleep with high fever; I just didn't believe them…

 _Fever? Q, are you sick?_

Well, apparently I was… I didn't realize it, I'm sorry! I would never have stayed away from work, especially not without telling anyone first… I don't know what happened! I'm so sorry! I'll make up for it somehow, I'm going to do extra hours and-

 _Don't speak rubbish, boy, you work far too much as it is! We were just very worried, that's all. We thought… we thought something bad must have happened._

It's unforgivable I didn't call and you couldn't reach me, I know. I'm going in right away, just half an hour, and—

 _You're definitely not coming in!_

Am I fired? (He knew that was a possibility of course but it hurt anyway…)

 _Of course not! Come on, Q, don't be like that! If you were that sick yesterday, surely, you must still feel under the weather today?_

I don't think anyone could catch it… (There was a very long-suffering sigh on the other side of the line at that. The boy didn't understand what he had done wrong again…)

 _I don't care about anyone catching it: I care about YOU! Why is it always so hard for you to understand that, my boy? I don't want you to work while you're sick because it's a horrible feeling and I want to spare you that. Especially now when there isn't any crisis that would warrant such a demand._

Oh… (What was there to say to that?)

 _So, you're sure they're taking good care of you and that you'll be all right there where you are?_

Of course I am. They're my brothers. They might be the most unconventional pair of siblings you could ever find but they love me and would do anything for me.

 _So you don't need any of us to come to you? Because anyone would gladly, really! Tanner was actually crying just two hours ago and everyone was so worried… You wouldn't believe it because you never believe someone could honestly care for you but you're very loved here. So if you need anything…?_

I'll be absolutely all right here, thank you. And I'm sorry for worrying all of you. Would you tell that the others too, please?

 _Of course, anything. You can stay there as long as you need to recover but please, when you feel up to it, send us updates so that we'll know you're really all right. You don't have to call if you don't want to, though of course everyone will just die to talk to you after the scare… but just a message will do, all right?_ (Q thought he might start crying again if they kept this up. He still didn't understand his weakened emotional state but it was getting really tiring already. He was like a pre-teen girl for God's sake...)

Yes, yes, of course. Thank you again, M. Bye!

 _Get better, son!_


	6. Chapter 6

Q emerged some fifteen minutes later, freshly showered, hair washed and dragging his still uncooperative feet weakly, looking like he was feeling even worse than before.

His brothers were both worriedly staring at him from their spot on/by the bed, as if they hadn't moved at all since the boy had shut himself into the bathroom. As soon as they saw that Q was just an inch from collapsing, they both ran to him with a speed that would have put a bullet to shame.

"Really, little brother, what were you thinking? You're still very ill, you can't just walk around like nothing had happened!"

"I'm… well, not fine, but I'll live, Sherlock." – Explained Q, then as if he had just remembered: – "It's Friday!"

"So we have told you one or two times… or maybe ten." – Nodded Mycroft.

"No, you don't understand! It's FRIDAY! And I don't remember yesterday at all! How is it possible?"

"Exactly how it's going to be possible for you not to remember the rest of this day either if you don't stop that fussing and properly lie down already." – Scolded him Sherlock, because he was once again fighting them about being tucked in. – "Come on, Benedict, if you want to get better soon to be able to go back to work then you'll have to cooperate with us here!"

Well, even Q had to admit it was true, so with a sigh he let himself be properly tucked into bed. It was actually very good to be lying down again, as his legs had felt like jelly while standing, slowly melting away and leaving him absolutely powerless to remain upright.

"I didn't go to work yesterday." – He complained dazed.

"No, you didn't." – Acknowledged Mycroft. – "But I don't think you would have been capable of doing anything productive if you had gone, so you shouldn't worry about it."

"I worry because it could cost me my job! I know you'd like to see me get chucked out just so you could say 'I told you so' but-"

"Don't start again, little brother! I get that you're sick and tired and irritated for whatever reason but don't take it out on us!" – Warned Sherlock sternly. – "We just spent over 30 hours taking care of you and worrying so _we're_ tired too!"

Q just huffed but deep inside he knew that they were both right: he was being totally unfair. He again couldn't understand himself. Why was he doing it? That wasn't like him at all!

"Care to tell us about what exactly happened during that row with a friend?" – Inquired Mycroft. – "And if you're going to say 'nothing' then better stay silent please. We're not stupid, you know."

Yes, that he knew…

Q took a deep breath.

"All right. It was like that: we've been very good friends ever since I've known him. It's not unusual for him to visit me in my flat to play some video games or for me to go over to him to just talk about books, his travels or whatever. He was… well, I guess you could say on a _vacation_ for a while (to which he had left at a rather inconvenient time to begin with I might add) and when he came back not so long ago, be brought his new girlfriend."

Both brothers listened attentively, finally feeling like they were getting an insight into the secret life of their little brother. They hated not knowing.

For a long moment, the boy just lay in silence, seemingly not ready to continue yet. They waited for him then – when it appeared he was better again – nodded for him to go on.

The encouragement helped.

"This woman just hates me. I mean it: HATES with capital letters. And I have no idea why!" – He was getting worked up again and Mycroft made him drink a little water to calm down. – "Thank you… So, she hates me with a passion and she even told me so once so I'm not making it up or imagining or anything. She told me in no nonsense terms she wouldn't let me ruin their relationship by being a selfish little kid, even though I never had such intentions! Quite the contrary: I even got her a job at MI6 so that they can be together more!"

"And what does your friend say about it?" – Asked Sherlock, already having plans to 'talk' to that woman and the supposed friend as soon as they'd learn their identities.

"Nothing, that's just it! First, he didn't know about it because I didn't want to hurt him by telling him about the love of his life being an ass… But in the end it got out of hand so I had to tell him."

"And…?"

"And he said I was just _lying_ , making it up, because I was _jealous_!" – The teenager sobbed the last sentence and had difficulty saying the next. – "And he left without saying anything more (except teasing me for being too much of a coward to get on an airplane) and I haven't seen him ever since, so I didn't have opportunity to tell him it's not true, that I'm not jealous, not a coward… and not making it up! Though he probably wouldn't believe me anyway."

"I'm going to kill them." – Stated Sherlock simply while Mycroft tried to coax the boy to drink some more water before he worked himself into getting a high fever again.

"I don't understand: why would I be jealous? I would be glad for him even to have found a partner, were that partner not the Devil incarnate. How can someone who calls himself my friend believe for a minute that I would lie about something like that? Why wouldn't he believe me? Why would he say I was jealous? WHY?"

"I don't know, Benedict, I'm sorry. I can't pretend I understand people and I've never had friends. Well, it's true that I didn't even want any, exactly for reasons like this one: I simply can't trust anyone. Most people only want you as long as they have any use for you, be it for any work-related favors or having someone to go to when they'd be otherwise alone… I don't want to imply that's the case with your friend but it's not impossible that now that he has the 'love of his life', he just feels he doesn't need you anymore. I'm sorry if that's it."

"It might be…" – Admitted Q reluctantly. – "Though he had assured me hundred times before the fight that nothing would change. But these might just have been words."

"These are most of the times only empty words, yes." – Nodded Sherlock with wisdom as if he had been in that situation multiply times before with numerous friends.

"What do I do now?" – Asked the boy, looking very lost and small.

"Well, there's nothing more to do than learn from it and go on with your life, having become wiser. You have bunch of other friends, don't you?"

"Yes… Well… I suppose… Ahm…" – What if all of them were like that? Was anyone honestly his friend at all? He was the Quartermaster, and – with the new order of things installed when Mallory had become M and the both of them had worked out the new code for MI6 – also the second highest ranking member in the organization. It figured people would want to be friendly with him… Maybe that's it? Were they all simply after favors? A modified car here, an exploding watch there… How could he ever be sure? – "I don't know."

Sherlock and Mycroft shared a knowing look with each other. They were nearing to the initial problem finally.

"Benedict… do you have a life outside of work at all?" – Mycroft chanced the question.

"Why, of course I do!" – Exclaimed Q nearly offended.

"How does it look like?" – Prodded Sherlock.

"Well, it's… you know… like anyone else's…" – The boy seemed a little unsure of himself. – "I usually have a few hours off every third day or so when I can go home and… well, of course I'm very tired then… and I sleep mostly, because I have to go back the next day…"

"You said you visit each other with your friend sometimes?"

"Yes, and not just with him. With the others as well. Of course it's not very often, maybe once a month… Before I became the… what I am now, we used to go out for dinner with Tanner a few times a week. Not now of course. Now it's not very often… But it happens." – His brothers looked at him incredulously. – "Sometimes. Once. Maybe. I can't remember but I think we have done it once since… since things are like that. Since The Change."

"What is that great change that happened? And when was it?"

"A new order of things. When the Headquarters exploded and we got a new leader. It happened around that time."

"Oh, yes, of course, I know about that. The whole world knows about that. But it doesn't explain why you suddenly lost all your free time?"

"I can't explain it."

"Why not?"

"Top secret. Sorry."

Sherlock rolled his eyes while Mycroft sighed.

"And do you think that's how you should live your life? Are you happy like that?" – He asked.

"Of course I'm happy!"

"Yes, little brother, we can definitely see that!" – Spat Sherlock, still offended about not being told everything. – "All your protruding ribs, twig-like limbs and sunken-in eyes just scream of happiness."

Q narrowed his eyes dangerously. His minions and even the agents would already cower in fear seeing that expression.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't."

"Enough, both of you!" – Intervened Mycroft before things could get out of hand because once his two little brothers began arguing with each other, there was no stopping them for hours. – "Benedict, maybe you should try spending more time away from work and-"

"Ah, yes, of course, thank you very much, my wise big brother, for the great advice. I'm really stupid I've haven't thought about it on my own!"

"- relax more. Maybe even look for friends among 'normal' people if that's what you really wish. I mean, that's why you left here, isn't it? Wanting friends and normal?"

"Never ever say that word to me again! I – don't – want – _normal_!" – He didn't add that he had tried it and failed just like everywhere else, it seemed. He didn't belong anywhere; that was the harsh truth. He wasn't normal enough to be among average people but also wasn't sociopathic enough to be satisfied with sitting at home all his life.

After that he just lay in bed with his brothers sitting beside him, nobody saying anything more. There was just nothing to say to that. Of course, Mycroft and Sherlock really weren't stupid, so they just about understood everything that remained unsaid. They couldn't wait for their planned MI6 visit. It couldn't come soon enough: it was getting more and more pressing.

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

Q remained in Mycroft's house for the whole weekend after that, speaking with M on Saturday, assuring him that he was feeling much better and would be returning to work on Monday. In turn, M swore he wouldn't find Q-Branch in a mess at all and that all his minions had been behaving rather fantastic. He informed the Quartermaster in delight that no emergencies had come up and hopefully this state would hold out until his return.

He didn't have any more arguments with his brothers either, though all of them carefully avoided talking about sensitive topics just like his job, his lifestyle or anything to do with him, really.

On Sunday he was completely healthy again and being still confined to bedrest ("You could get sick again in your weakened state if you don't rest, Benedict, and then you can begin the whole process all over again.") meant he was absolutely bored. So for lack of anything better to do, the boy spent the morning upgrading Mycroft's flat-screen television that happened to have the misfortune to be situated in the bedroom. By the time he was finished with it, it resembled more a high-tech computer than a simple television and could get foreign channels nobody had ever heard of before.

"And just why would I want to watch Chinese TV, brother dear?" – Complained Mycroft upon seeing the teenager's handiwork.

"Why, I thought you spoke Mandarin?"

"I do, that's exactly why I know I don't want to watch it! And where do you have the tools from? Half of them look totally unfamiliar to me."

Q just shrugged and went back to work on the alarm clock he had snatched from the nightstand. He had plans to modify it so that it would write out instructions for Mycroft every morning to 'get out of the bed already' or 'don't be lazy, go jogging' and play the National Anthem on full volume while he was getting dressed.

Mycroft sighed, giving the argument up as useless and decided to just let the kid do whatever he wanted. It was easier than trying to reason with him anyway, since the boy was never really paying attention when he was so engrossed in a project of his. He made sure to take his mobile phone with him out of the room though and hid it in a kitchen cabinet where he was sure the youngest Holmes would never look for it. Better be safe…

John came in the evening to check up on the boy again to make sure everything was fine. He assured both worrying older brothers that the youngest was absolutely healed and would indeed be fit to return to work the next day but he also emphasized how he was _very_ underweight and would have to eat way more in the future, also he needed to take better care of himself, so no more working for days on end without rest and sleep!

Q forced himself not to roll his eyes in exasperation and tried to steal the doctor's watch instead to reprogram its alarm to be much louder as a form of revenge. Unfortunately, Sherlock caught his movement just as he had managed to undo the strap and snatched it back from him with a warning look, without John noticing anything of it at all. The teenager pouted and stuck out his tongue.

"Very mature, Benedict." – Stated Mycroft and Sherlock rolled his eyes then handed the watch back to a very confused looking John.

Both the doctor and the middle Holmes brother left when the examination was done and Q insisted he sleep in his own childhood bedroom to finally let Mycroft have his bed instead of making him sleep on the couch in the living room for another night.

Given that he really wasn't tired after so much lazing around anymore, Q had a lot of time to think that night. During his musings he recognized for the first time how grateful he really was for his brothers for everything they had done for him these last few days while he had been sick. Also, he realized with a heavy heart that he hadn't really made it easy for them to deal with him; not with all his nervous breakdowns and childish tantrums. He would have to apologize to both of them and even say heartfelt thanks.

Also, he finally understood he needed to do something to get out of the deep hole he had dug himself into over the last few months by thinking solely on work and totally neglecting himself and his friends. No wonder he was losing them; he really hadn't spent enough time with anyone lately.

He needed to learn to keep to a more reasonable working schedule and try to delegate more work to his minions. He would do nobody any good if he collapsed during one of the more important missions. The fact that he couldn't even remember a whole day had proved that he wasn't as invincible as he had thought himself to be.

The change surely wouldn't be simple but with help, he'd manage.

And help he had. He knew that now.

 _The end_


End file.
